"Della—Del—darlin'—what's the matter?"
"Oh, Gawd!"
"What, darlin'—what?"
"Read!"
Ysobel peered across the bare shoulder, her slim silk legs tiptoed and her neck arched.
Maw buried yesterday. Money you sent for her birthday paid funeral. Am ready. Wire directions.
Cottie.
"Aw—aw, Del darlin'—honest, I—I don't know what to say, only it—only—it ain't like she was your real mother, Del darlin'. You can't be hard hit over a blind old dame that used to make it hot as sixty for you."
"Poor old soul—she lived like a rat and—died like one, I guess."
"With you sending her money all the time—nixy!"
"Like a rat! Poor old maw."